Tuesday started with a 7.30 am breakfast meeting that the chair person failed to show up for. In fact only three of the six people on the committee arrived (and not the one with the pastries), so we went ahead and made all sorts of decisions, as was our right for not only being there, but being there on time and being cheated out of our promised breakfast. They can’t argue with our actions, as they weren’t there!
I never trust people who say they will bring pastries for a breakfast meeting; especially if they are male. As witnessed, they often do not attend, they forget the pastries (pretending the bakery wasn’t open yet) or they buy three pastries for 24 people. I always eat my breakfast before leaving and if there is a food consider it a bonus.
It was a long tiresome day. I don’t know if it was the full moon, or the westerly winds, but everyone seemed ratty. Even my assistant was in a bad mood, and I thought for awhile that I was going to have to spindlicate her with the binding machine and put her out of my misery, but she came around by lunch time and so survived the day. Apparently the cold war in the office next door showed signs of thawing, but the mystery of the cause remains.
This week it is my turn to bake for the family of our colleague who died recently. One night a week, two volunteers prepare a meal. I offered the dessert and I baked triple choc brownies. Kind of freaky cooking for people that I don’t know. Well, I have spoken to his daughter twice since his death. She has his eyes and it is as though he is gazing back at me. Anyway, I hope I haven’t accidentally mixed in salt instead of sugar or something akin to a domestic disaster as has been known to happen once or twice in the past. (Distract me when I am cooking at your own peril).
I am a bit over this school term, but only two and a half weeks until vacation. Two weeks. I am attending a conference in Cairns during the second week (a conference of librarians, party central for sure!) but I am leaving Mr FD at home, so one shall be thankful for small (big) mercies.
Perhaps I do need to buy a life after all, but not as much as Prince Charles who called his mother “Mummy” in front of millions. The Queen did not look amused.
He’s done it before. 60+ man calls his 80+ parent Mummy. Guffaw guffaw.
That’s a nice thing to do, the baking for the bereaved. Wonder if it might wear tin after a while tho.
A conference of librarians. Sounds wild
I think the food roster is only for this term, which ends June 22nd. The thing I am looking forward to most at the conference is the quiet night in the motel room, so if others are the same, it will be a wild time in Cairns for sure!
There’s something vaguely sinister about a grown up referring to a parent as ‘mummy’. My mother in law does it when she talks about her mother and it makes me cringe a little bit every time. In our organisation no one ever offers to bring pastries to meetings and since I kept stealing the bacon out of them, they don’t even bring their own bacon rolls in any more if I’m going to be there.